


See You Later

by liketolaugh



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, FULL CHEESY, M/M, Male Cinderella
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the first night, Allen meets the prince. On the second, they become friends. On the third- Allen has to leave before Link can tell him what he wants to do next. Cinderella AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Mana, when are you gonna get well?”

Allen played up the petulance in his voice in the hopes that it would hide the fear. Nonetheless, he was curled up under the covers with his father, one hand clutching at the man’s shirt and the other, his left, tucked between them. The room was well-lit by a lamp hanging in the corner, and a persistent chill hung in the air. Allen knew that if he went outside, there would be nothing but sparkling white as far as Allen could see.

Mana chuckled quietly, winced, and reached over to pat Allen’s head gently, prompting a scowl.

“Silly boy,” he murmured. “You heard what the doctor said.”

A wave of misery crashed over Allen and wrapped around his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. When he found his voice again, he snapped,

“The doctor _lied._ He’s a lying liar and a jerk. You’re gonna be fine, and then I’ll have to deal with your stupid damn jokes for the rest of my life.”

Mana’s smile softened, and Allen growled, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his forehead into Mana’s side. He felt Mana’s hand slide from his head down to squeeze his shoulder, warm and unfairly steady, and for a few minutes, both of them were quiet. When Mana spoke again, Allen started, but adamantly refused to look up.

“Promise me something,” Mana requested.

Allen grumbled something incoherent into Mana’s shirt. Mana chuckled again and continued anyway.

“Promise me that after I’m gone, you’ll smile and be happy.”

Allen heard him, but he stubbornly refused to say anything in reply. After a moment, Mana’s hand shifted again, from his shoulder to his back, rubbing gentle circles there, and neither of them spoke again that night.

* * *

Mana died on a clear winter’s day, when everything was too bright to be gloomy, but too silent to be cheerful. Allen sat at his father’s grave and stared at it and let the stifling cold press down around him. In a daze, he came back every morning, and every night, returned to an empty silent house. With each passing day, the suffocating white leeched a little more color from him, until his auburn hair was white as the snow around it, and his dark grey eyes had lightened to a clear silver.

After a week, this routine was interrupted by Mana’s brother, Neah D. Campbell.

Mana had been a nobleman, but he hadn’t conducted himself like one. He’d had an appearance too ordinary, a smile too kind, and clothing too disheveled for a proper nobleman.

Neah acted like a nobleman, in all his pride and haughtiness and vanity. His hair was glossy black to Mana’s dull brown, his clothing in perfect order instead of Mana’s disorder, and Allen had never once seen him smile.

Then again, perhaps it was only Allen he never smiled around. After all, the first thing he told Allen was how little he cared for him.

“Mana asked me to look after you,” he’d said to Allen, when he stumbled in damp and cold. “But that doesn’t mean I have to _care_ about you.”

Allen, still numb, hadn’t processed his words right away – he hadn’t even immediately registered that he didn’t know the man. His mind had been elsewhere, on another cold day the year before, and the quiet request made under lamplight.

_Promise me that after I’m gone, you’ll smile and be happy._

Allen thought, _I will, Mana._

And he smiled.

But he didn’t register Neah’s frown.

Neah, it developed, had taken in two of his younger cousins already; Tyki and Road. Tyki was a little older than Allen, and he was careless and arrogant, happy to flaunt his age and Neah’s favor. Road was a little younger than him, and she was playful and sadistic; not six months after their arrival, she trapped Allen and cut his face open with a knife, laughing at his cries.

It was neither the first nor the last incident of its kind, but it was the only time Neah interfered, and it left Allen with a fierce, jagged scar down the left side of his face, his eye barely salvaged.

Still, Allen smiled.

Even as he was put to work, singlehandedly cooking and cleaning and sewing for the whole household, he smiled.

He hadn’t promised. But Mana had asked, and that was enough.

* * *

On Allen’s sixteenth birthday, Prince Howard Link’s twentieth, his coming-of-age, to be celebrated with a ball lasting three days, was announced. Thus, a day that may have passed without acknowledgement was spent abuzz with excitement.

“Uncle Ne- _ah!”_ Road pouted, clinging to Neah’s elbow like a trophy wife. “I _want_ to go to the ball!”

Neah raised an eyebrow at his niece. “The ball is in four days,” he said mildly. “We have nothing to wear.”

That was a blatant lie; each of them – Neah, Tyki, and Road, that was – had wardrobes upon wardrobes of nice things to wear. Neah’s problem, of course, was that it had all been worn before, and only brand new clothing could be worn to a Royal Ball.

“We’ll never be ready in time,” Neah concluded, reaching down to pat Road’s hand.

“Allen can do it!” Road insisted. “Allen can make us new clothing to wear!” She released Neah’s elbow and rounded on Allen, grabbing his forearm in a bruising grip that made him wince. “Can’t you, _Allen?”_

Allen managed a smile for her. “Of course I can,” he demurred. In return, she squeezed his arm until his bones creaked and a gasp left his lips, and then let it go with a beam to spin back to Neah.

“See, we can go!” Road huffed, crossing her arms.

“He’s teasing, Road,” Tyki informed her, crossing the room to stand nearby and smirk at Neah. “Aren’t you, Uncle dear?”

Neah smirked as well, an almost identical expression to Tyki’s. “Of course.” He glanced at Allen and his smirk vanished, replaced by dislike. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get to work.”

Allen thought that he was unlikely to get a better chance than this, so he took a deep breath, counted up the pros and cons, and asked, “Neah, if I finish your clothing early, may I go as well?”

Road laughed, high and derisive. Tyki turned his head to glance at Allen, his smirk once again in place and a hint of cruel amusement in his eyes. Allen ignored them both, keeping his silver eyes on Neah.

Neah’s amiable expression had transformed into a scowl. “Don’t be idiotic. You’re an embarrassment to this family; worse, you’re _deformed.”_ He spared a disgusted look to Allen’s left arm, and Allen flinched. “You’re not going anywhere near the castle while I can help it.”

Allen ducked his head and smiled, even as his cousins’ laughter grew in volume and spitefulness. “Okay,” he said softly. “I understand.”

* * *

On that first day, Allen went to get the materials from town. He’d been given enough money to get all the cloth in all the colors his relatives could ever want, and he did, taking yards of satins and silks in a rainbow of colors.

With his own money, filched and found over the years, he bought cloth in two colors: the first smooth and glossy, in such a deep blue that Allen could almost believe it would soon fade to starry black, and the other an even cream that could have been skimmed from a pail.

On the first night, Allen made a vest of the soft cream cloth and went to sleep.

On the second day, Road occupied his time all the day he wasn’t occupied by his chores. She demanded ruffles and lace and prettier colors, nicer embroidery, a shorter hem. And Allen sewed her a scarlet gown with deep pink cuffs and a matching neckline, with a pastel pink breast, and Road declared herself satisfied.

The second night, Allen made a pair of breeches of the soft cream cloth and went to sleep.

The third day, Tyki took great pleasure in breaking him away from whatever task he was completing to do something else, and making him start over when he returned. He changed what he asked for every time Allen turned around, and Allen had to begin again. At the end of the day, Allen made him a violet coat on a black vest and breeches, and Tyki declared himself satisfied.

The third night, Allen made a coat of the glossy night-sky cloth and went to sleep.

On the fourth day, Neah made things difficult for Allen. Allen could not touch him too much, or speak too many words to him, or stay too long in the same room as him. All of these things made Allen tired and frustrated as even Tyki’s games hadn’t done, and it was late into the night before he finished. But in the end, he made Neah a navy coat with a paler blue vest and breeches, and Neah, too, was satisfied.

On the fourth night, Allen went to sleep.

The fifth day, the day of the Prince’s birthday and the first night of the ball, Allen realized how stupid he’d been.

While his cousins and uncle were as excited as they had been the day the ball was announced, Allen was thinking about his appearance – his snow white hair and bold scar and the blood-red color of his left arm. There was no way his family wouldn’t recognize him in a moment. On top of that, they would surely discover the suit hidden among the mess of old clothing, and then he would be in trouble on top of it all.

So when it came time for the other three to leave, he sat by the fireplace and watched them go. When he was sure they were gone, he sat on the front stairs to watch the castle in the distance, a wistful smile on his face.

It had snowed earlier, and the remnants of it crunched under Allen’s feet. It was still light out, and the cold made Allen shiver, while the clean scent of pine hung in the air and tickled his nose. The sky was a dull, cloudy white, and in the distance, faded by fog, the castle loomed.

“It would have been nice to go,” he murmured to himself, laying his cheek in his hand.

Somewhere off to the side, snow crunched. A rock hit his head.

“Ow,” Allen complained. Another rock hit his head, and he looked over with a faint scowl, just in time to duck another. “What the hell?”

Just within sight, half-hidden by a tree, a tall man with long red hair was watching him… and holding yet another rock in his hand.

Allen stood up hastily and stormed over to him, jerked out of his reverie. The man eyed him with something like approval and tossed the rock away, instead stuffing his hand into his pocket.

“Who are you?” Allen asked, a little shorter of temper than usual.

“Cross Marian,” the man answered instantly, now looking him up and down thoughtfully. “I was a friend of your father’s.” For a moment, he hesitated, and then huffed quietly, raising his eyes to meet Allen’s. “Promised him I’d look after you.”

 _Then why didn’t you?_ Allen refused to ask, and said instead, “Oh.”

Cross eyed him suspiciously like he knew what Allen was thinking, but said instead, “And I gotta say, I think you took his words in completely the wrong direction. When he says ‘smile and be happy’ the important part there is probably, you know, _‘be happy’.”_

Allen repressed the urge to bristle. “What do you want me to _do_ about it?” he asked sharply.

Cross snorted in such a way that it made Allen feel like he’d asked a stupid question, which made him scowl. “You want to go to that ball thing, don’t you?”

Despite himself, Allen stole a glance back at the silhouette of the castle, and when he looked back at Cross, he nodded reluctantly.

“I’d like to dance,” he admitted in a low voice. “But there’s not really any chance of that.”

Cross snorted again. “Idiot,” he muttered, and out of his coat, pulled something that Allen didn’t recognize until he’d thrown it at Allen. “Take that and go to the stupid ball.”

Allen frowned at him, looked down, and unfolded the bundle of cloth until he realized what it was.

The suit he’d made.

He looked up at Cross with wide eyes and a half-open mouth, and Cross smirked.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, frowning. Cross’ smirk transformed into a scowl.

“Don’t ask stupid questions!”

Allen frowned at him for a moment longer, and then remembered what the problem had been in the first place, and even as he drew the suit to his chest protectively, he said softly, “I can’t go. Neah will know I was there.” With one hand, still twisted in cloth, he gestured to his head. “I’m not exactly difficult to recognize.”

Cross sighed, the sound heavy and put-upon, as if he, too, saw Allen as a burden. Which was probably true, come to think of it, if, like Neah, he was looking after Allen only for Mana’s sake.

Even in death, Mana was looking after Allen.

Then Cross reached out and, before Allen could react, tapped Allen on the forehead. Allen frowned as warmth spread across his face and head, all the way down to his neck, from the point of contact. Before he could ask what Cross had done, the man shoved something into his hands, and Allen glanced down to find that it was a pair of nice, white gloves.

Now Cross looked smug. “There. Hair normal, scar gone, hand hidden. Magic’ll wear off by midnight, but it’ll hold up ‘til then. Got any other complaints, princess?”

Allen reached up and took a lock of hair between his fingers, glanced down at it, and found it… Red. Just as it had been before.

He smiled.

“No,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

And, ignoring Cross’ startled face, he turned and went back into the house to change.

He had a ball to attend.


	2. Chapter 2

The chatter of the crowd and the music of the orchestra wove and sang together in the air. The warm candlelight cast by the chandeliers mixed with the silver moonlight streaming through the windows, and the smell of dense, hearty food hung around the massive ballroom. Warmth rolled throughout the room like a fog, and ballgoers moved and swayed in a rhythmic, hypnotic chorus.

Allen, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, beamed at his current dance partner – a shy womn with dark hair and, he’d learned, a lovely little smile.

The current dance drew to a close and Allen released his partner’s hands, smiling at her. “Have a good night, Miranda.”

Miranda smiled at him, small and shy but sincere, and reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “You as well,” she returned, and both of them moved on.

Allen turned to look for his next partner – he’d danced a thousand dances already, and planned to dance a thousand more – but instead noticed Tyki, smiling his charming smile and getting far too close for Allen’s liking.

Regretfully, Allen turned aside and left the dance, intending to blend in among the many oters who had done so already.

Among those he swiftly found Neah, making small talk with an unimpressed blonde woman, so he altered his course again to duck into a little alcove.

He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone had noticed his disappearance – not that he could discern – and then turned back to examine the rest of the alcove.

He met the wide brown eyes of Prince Howard Link.

Allen’s eyes widened, too, and he nearly recoiled in shock. Then he swallowed his surprise, smiled at the prince, and said, “Fancy meeting you here, your highness. Happy birthday.”

The surprise left Link’s face until only a closed-off stiffness remained. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in,” he replied, a noticeable tone of resignation draped over the words. “Are you not enjoying the ball?”

“Very much,” Allen assured him earnestly. “I’ve never danced so much in my life, and everyone is having so much fun. It’s wonderful.”

Link sighed. “Well, at least some good came of this,” he murmured; Allen noted with concern that he sounded almost bitter.

“Have you spent the whole night alone?” Allen asked, frowning. When Link didn’t reply, Allen hummed worriedly. “That’s not right; this is for _your_ birthday, after all.”

“I chose it,” Link explained, an edge of warning in his tone, visibly tense. “I am not fond of balls.”

“Oh!” Allen smiled bashfully. “I see. I’m sorry, am I bothering you?”

Link eyed him for a moment, as if genuinely considering, and Allen bit his lip in worry. Then Link sighed again, offered Allen a small, wry smile, and answered, “Not particularly. Take your time.”

Allen glanced out into the ballroom, found Neah still far too close for comfort, and looked back at Link, who was frowning again.

Allen smiled at him. “Thank you, your highness.”

Link hummed in acknowledgement. “Are you here alone?” he asked, sounding at best half-interested. Allen answered anyway.

“Yes, but I don’t mind. I’ve been dancing all night, and many of the people here are quite nice.”

Link raised an eyebrow. “Are they?” he asked dubiously. Allen laughed.

“Very,” Allen assured him. “What do you like to do, if you dislike balls?”

To Allen’s surprise and hidden delight, Link flushed, and then cleared his throat, averting his gaze.

“I enjoy reading,” Link informed him, and then, reluctantly, “I… also like to bake, on occasion. His Majesty taught me, a long time ago.”

Funnily enough, Allen could not picture King Leverrier in a kitchen at all, let alone making anything.

He smiled at Link anyway, and said, “You must have many fond memories of that.”

Link hesitated, and then cracked a small, genuine smile. “I do.” Another short pause, and then, almost tentative, “Do you have… anything similar?”

Allen let his smile soften into something fonder, recalling time spent dancing to a tune he could neither hear nor comprehend, his own loud protests ringing through his mind. “My father taught me how to dance. Perhaps that’s why I enjoy it so much.”

“I’m glad you’ve had another chance to do so,” Link replied, and he sounded, this time, like he meant it.

Allen smiled. “Me, too.”

* * *

The clock struck nine, and Link asked Allen, “Do you like the snow?”

Allen smiled and replied, “Very much.”

“I prefer the sun,” Link admitted, shaking his head a little.

The clock struck ten, and Link asked Allen, “When is your birthday?”

Allen smiled and answered, “It was four days ago, on Christmas.”

Link blinked. “Really? So recently?”

Allen laughed. “Yes, really.”

The clock struck eleven, and Link asked Allen, “Are you sure you want to spend the whole night here?”

Allen smiled and promised, “I don’t mind.”

Fifteen minutes before midnight, Allen glanced at the clock, winced, and said apologetically, “I should be getting back soon.”

Link started. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Allen assured him. _I’m just not meant to be here._ “I’m on a curfew, that’s all.”

“Ah.” Link relaxed, but his brow crinkled. “By the way… You never told me your name.”

“You can call me Red,” Allen answered easily, giving Link a smile.

“Will you be coming back tomorrow, Red?” Link asked, gaze intent on Allen, as if searching for sincerity.

Allen’s heart skipped a beat, and there, hidden from the crowd and lit by more moonlight than candle, reached for Link’s hand, lifted it, and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.

“I’ll see you then,” he promised a startled Link, and then let his hand go, turned, and vanished into the crowd, cheeks burning and with a stomach full of butterflies.

* * *

In the morning, Allen’s hair was white again and his face was scarred once more. Despite that, Allen walked around with a happy bounce to his step and hummed a lullaby he’d learned from Mana, the only tune he knew by heart.

Road, of course, noticed his happiness and became resentful. She tripped him as he worked, and she pushed him into the ashy hearth, and she scattered her food across the ground, huffing and sulking. Still, he smiled, he bounced, and he hummed.

So she spoke to Tyki, and she made him angry and jealous, so that he lost his temper and struck Allen – just once before he stopped, glaring darkly at Allen.

“You’re lucky, boy,” he told Allen, feigning carelessness, “that I dislike touching you.”

Allen smiled. “I know.

That night, Tyki, Road, and Neah left in a flurry of conversation, and Allen waited until they were gone before stepping out the door onto the front step.

Cross was waiting for him, eyes disapproving and mouth set in a frown. His gaze lingered on Allen’s cheek, where a red mark from Tyki’s fist was likely beginning to develop into a bruise.

“Those cousins of yours are a couple of shits,” Cross commented idly. Then, before Allen could react to that, he reached out and tapped Allen’s left cheek, just below his eye and opposite his new bruise. As before, warmth spread out from the point of contact, and Cross said, “That’ll hide the bruise too. Get going, brat, and be back by midnight.”

Allen, already dressed in his suit, reached up, glanced at the red hair clasped in his gloved fingers, and smiled. “Thank you.”

This time, Cross just rolled his eyes and waved him off again, and Allen took off toward the castle.


	3. Chapter 3

The chatter of the crowd and the music of the orchestra flew and flounced together in the air. The soft candlelight cast by the chandeliers danced with the cool moonlight streaming through the windows, and the smell of warm, fresh food hung around the massive ballroom. Heat billowed throughout the room as if from a bonfire, and ballgoers twisted and turned in a rhythmic, hypnotic chorus.

Allen looked around, eyes bright and mouth already stretching into a smile, searching out but one person in particular.

To his left was Neah, almost lost in the crowd, and Tyki, flirting gratuitously. To his right was Road, spinning without a care in the world, and Miranda, dancing with a dark-skinned man and a smile on her face.

And then, somewhere in the middle, his eyes found Link, dancing with a blonde girl about Allen’s age, smiling slightly. The light shone two ways off of the two of them, bathing the girl in moonlight and Link in the firelight, and Allen followed them for a moment with his eyes, wondering if she-

Link turned, and from across the room Allen could still see Link’s eyes light up like the first signs of dawn, his smile widening.

The girl whose hands he held turned aside, following Link’s gaze to Allen, and Allen gave her a warm smile of his own. The corner of her mouth twitched up, and to his surprise, she released Link’s hands and stepped back. Link gave her a shallow bow, the two spoke for a moment, and then he cut through the crowd towards Allen, brushing aside those who sought to speak with him with but the bare minimum of politeness, and maybe not quite even that.

“Good evening, Link,” Allen greeted with a smile, holding out his hand.

Link took it, shaking it once, quick and gentle, before he let go. While his smile was smaller now, it still held the warmth of a summer night, unsuited to the frost patterns on the windows. “Good evening, Red,” he returned quietly. He reached up and touched Allen’s shoulder, and Allen let himself be led elsewhere, expectant eyes on the prince. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Allen assured him, glancing around as they passed through an ornate door into the adjacent room. He looked over his shoulder as the door swung shut, and they were cut off from the rest of the ball, the music becoming muffled as if through a thick fog. “Who was that, may I ask?”

Link paused, turning towards him with a frown, one eyebrow quirked in clear question, somewhat suspicious. “Why do you ask?”

Allen smiled sheepishly, reaching over self-consciously to tug at his sleeve. “I wouldn’t want to go where I wasn’t wanted,” he explained, and Link relaxed slightly.

“A friend,” he offered, a warmth like candlelight entering his eyes. “Her name is Tewaku. I’ve known her for quite a long time. She offered to occupy my time until you arrived.”

“That was kind of her,” Allen murmured, struggling to hide the delight he felt that Link had been not just looking forward to his arrival, but _waiting_ for him. “What are your other friends like?”

They reached a table, small and simple compared to the grandeur of the rest of the room, painted with pictures of strong knights doing great deeds, tucked away in a corner. For a moment, Allen wondered if it was always there, and then Link replied and he forgot about it.

“Tewaku is a Marquess’ daughter,” Link was explaining, eyes not quite on Allen’s as he thought. He leaned on the table, though, one hand cast carelessly over a dragon’s roaring head, and he was angled toward him. “So she’s around quite often, and so is her brother, Madarao – I’m friends with him as well.” Allen nodded encouragingly, and Link refocused on him and let a small smile flicker across his face again, quick as a butterfly’s wingflap. “Tokusa isn’t around quite as often, but he always makes trouble when he is-”

Both of them moved in small shifts as Link talked. Allen moved his hands from his lap to the table’s edge, and the table’s edge to the center, intertwined with each other as he leaned forward to listen. Link, in his turn, moved his hands from the tabletop to the air and back down, and eventually they landed near to Allen’s, not quite touching and not quite apart.

“But you haven’t told me about your friends,” Link said at last, looking embarrassed to have spoken for so long. Music filtered in through the thick wooden door, faint and muddled with the sounds of the crowd they couldn’t see, and Allen half-inclined his head and smiled, brighter than anything he’d produced so far.

“Well- I see Lenalee often. Her brother is an engineer who works near where I live-”

Now it was Allen’s turn to talk - about Lenalee, about Lavi the historian, Kanda the blacksmith, and it didn’t even occur to him that there was anything at all odd about what he was saying until he noticed, at last, Link’s expression.

Link was studying him, brown eyes sharp and discerning, and Allen’s smile slowly faded, his words grinding to a halt like a carriage that had lost its horse. He tilted his head in concern, brow furrowing.

“Link?” he questioned.

“You’ve only mentioned people of the working class,” Link noted, sounding perfectly puzzled.

Allen’s smile vanished altogether, a cold like morning frost gathering inside his chest as he stared at Link with a blank-eyed gaze. “I suppose so,” he said at last, without moving.

For a moment, Link frowned, and then Allen saw something like alarm flicker behind his eyes, and he shook his head quickly.

“It’s of no importance,” Link assured him. “I simply found it strange.”

Allen forced himself to relax somewhat. “I suppose to a prince it would be,” he teased, keeping his voice light.

Link blinked, looking briefly startled. He opened his mouth, closed it, struggled a moment, and then glanced away, visibly embarrassed. “My perspective isn’t ordinary,” he acknowledged uncomfortably. “Might I ask what rank your family holds?”

For a long, surprisingly long, moment, Allen struggled to remember, it was so little a part of his existence.

“An Earl,” he said at last, remembering. “My family holds an Earldom.”

Link seemed to mull that over for a long moment. “I’d have expected you to attend balls far more often, with that rank,” he commented at last, and Allen relaxed the rest of the way as he came to understand Link’s confusion.

“My family does,” Allen dismissed instantly, ducking his head. “My cousin loves balls, in fact. But I’m not allowed.”

“Why not?”

Allen smiled self-deprecatingly, reaching up to tangle his fingers in his hair, embarrassment setting his cheeks aglow as he dropped his gaze. “I’m a shame to my family.”

“I would speak to your father about that.”

Startled, Allen looked back at Link, whose expression, a dark thunderstorm that stood in place of the summer warmth, matched his tone exactly. Already, Link was rising. Without thinking, Allen reached forward and caught Link’s hand in his own gloved fingers, and Link stopped.

“I don’t live with my father,” he said quietly, choosing not to explain why, keeping his eyes on Link’s. “I live with my uncle and cousins.” He let his worry, his fear, and his trust creep into the edges of his expression, and he continued, “Please don’t speak to them. I’d prefer they never know I was here.”

Link held his gaze for a long moment, frowning his worry and his disapproval, but finally, he sighed and sat back down, leaving their fingers intertwined atop the table.

“If you’d rather,” Link murmured.

* * *

The clock struck nine, and Allen asked Link, “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”

Link held his gaze, thoughtful, and said at last, slow and considering, “I suppose I’d want to be the best ruler possible.” He raised an eyebrow at Allen, curious. “What would you want?”

“I don’t know,” Allen admitted, smiling sheepishly. “Cake, maybe?”

Link laughed.

The clock struck ten, and at last they left the room to return to the ballroom, where Link introduced Allen to his friends, one by one.

The clock struck eleven, and the two of them returned to their place with a plate of cookies and shared it.

Allen ate the most, of course.

At five minutes to midnight, Allen glanced at the clock, winced, and said apologetically, “I’ll have to leave soon.”

Link frowned. “Won’t you stay a little longer, Red?”

Allen smiled, leaned forward, and away from the crowd, lit by more moonlight than candle, pressed a kiss, brief and chaste, to Link’s cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before Link could react, he vanished into the crowd, smiling to himself with his heart soaring.

* * *

In the morning, Allen’s hair matched the snow outside and a bruise decorated his face along with his scar. He hardly noticed. He smiled past the aching cheek and past the sneers of his cousins and never even noticed Neah’s suspicious frown.

Neah was suspicious, though, and he was angry. He spoke to Tyki and made him smile, and spoke to Road and made her laugh, and that day they worked both together and apart.

When Allen finished Neah’s meal, Tyki demanded his to be prepared again. When that was finished, Road had spilled hers across the ground. Tyki needed repairs to his suit, and Neah required the house cleaned again. He remade Road’s dress in its entirety, precisely as it was, and repainted the scratched door.

“Aren’t we clumsy today?” Neah asked, leaning against the wall with a smirk.

Allen smiled. “I don’t mind.”

By the end of the day, Allen was as exhausted as one might be after a month’s worth of work.

That night, Tyki, Road, and Neah left in a flurry of conversation, and Allen waited until they were gone before stepping out the door onto the front step.

Cross was waiting for him, arms crossed and face set in a dark scowl. He looked Allen up and down, down and up, and shook his head.

“You look like you’re about to fall over, brat,” he said flatly.

Allen, dressed in his suit and gloves already, gave him a tired smile. “I won’t.”

Cross snorted, reached over, and tapped Allen’s left cheek, just below his eye and opposite his bruise. Warmth spread out from the point of contact, and Cross said, “Get going, and be back by midnight.”

Allen dipped his head, let out a soft breath, and said, “Thank you.”

Cross sighed and waved him off, and Allen took off toward the castle.


End file.
